Silk Fingers
by Hilarious
Summary: An upstanding member of society, a daring thief, and a member of the royal family, Prince Kheldar of Drasnia is not exactly what you'd call a query...so how in Aldur's name did this happen? Mysteries are sloved, and hidden truths revealed...


Just one more day. the young man coached himself, straightening his collar in the full length mirror before him. Thats nothing! Just a few more hours in enjoyable company is all. Soon. Itll all be over soon.  
  
With that last piece of self-assurance he gave his collar a derisive tug, and dropped his arms to hang limply at his sides.  
  
He could see the lie painted across his face without even looking at his reflection.  
  
'Well, time to go.' He told himself, putting an end to his depressing thoughts. 'Okay, calm. Calm and smooth, like shadows dance. Smooth like glass.'  
  
The young man took a deep relaxing breath, filling his lungs with air, before pulling a hand serenely down his face from temple to chin.  
  
With the ritual complete he exhaled and turned quickly on his heel, straightening his shoulders briskly before heading swiftly towards the open chamber exit, and unprecedented rhythm to his steps.  
  
The wary glance he cast over his shoulder was momentarily caught in the mirror left behind him. The flash of a face, before the rich ebony door swung shut with a deep resonate click.  
  
The flash of a face a of a completely different person.  
  
"Ahem" a very annoyed Belgarath grunted as Silk walked by him towards the ballroom. "And just where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Why, to the ball of course." Silk replied flippantly, inspecting his nails as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a renowned thief such as himself should be invited to attend the royal festivities. "And why aren't you in there? I was sure Polgara would cajole you into attending."  
  
He eyed the old mans clean white robes skeptically. The fact that they matched his freshly washed and combed beard didn't go unnoticed either.  
  
Catching his glance Belgarath plucked at them with a disgusted look on his face.  
  
"Told me to wait out here and make a grandee entrance when all of the guests have arrived." The old sorcerer retorted huffily. "Men my age shouldn't have to put up with all this dancing nonsense. Stuffy speeches, meeting boring people and sticky handshakes couldn't disagree with me more. It's not like it means anything to me at this point anyway!"  
  
"Well Belgarath, there aren't nearly enough people your age for most to have even considered it an issue!" Silk retorted with a wicked smirk, eyes shining with mirth. And it was true.  
  
At the ripe old age of seven thousand years Belgarath was one of the oldest men in the world, next to his brother Beldin of course. He was also one of the last remaining disciples of the great God Aldur. Belgarath had been traveling the globe for centuries, doing his Masters bidding as is influence upon mortal affairs. However, these grandee connections usually ended up 'baying damnable prophecies' as he liked to say.  
  
"You for one must be used to all of this formal affair anyway Silk, being brought up as a royal Prince and all. Almost second nature for you to be polite and courteous isn't it? Hard to believe anything courteous could ever come out of a place like Drasnia. Spies, the lot of ya!" His rambling halted as Belgarath laughed at his own little joke.  
  
Suddenly Begarath looked up, surprised that the little thief hadn't regaled him with a witty retort. A speech of the 'nobility of the information trade', as he was apt to call the arts of spying. Expecting to be met with a smug look, he was staggered.  
  
Instead, he was met with a sight he was unsure that anyone else in the whole world has ever seen. A very shocked, and utterly defenseless looking, Prince Kheldar.  
  
'It must be poison!' He thought urgently. 'He must've been poisoned!'  
  
The pale, shaky form of the little thief was leaning heavily against the nearest chair. His knuckles were turning white from the death grip he held it under, and his breaths were coming in short, slightly erratic breaths. As if they were causing him physical pain. But this was only half of the reason for Belgraths surprised squeak. It was Silk's face that had consumed the Ancient Ones undivided attention. All thoughts of foul play were forgotten in an instant.  
  
Silk's usually tight, hard face had slackened dramatically. Relaxed to the point that it looked as if ten years had melted away from it.  
  
His previously thin lips seemed to grow as they pouted out from where they'd been tucked away in his cheek. The habitually tight knit brows sprang apart to frame a much younger looking obsidian black eyes, now shining with fear and trepidation.  
  
In fact, his whole face seemed to be loosening, a big knot, undone by the simple tug of a string.  
  
His hairline snuck downwards, making a few truant strands escape the leather thong holding them in the plait at the nape of his neck. They fell innocently in front of his face, hiding it from Belgaraths stunned stare. The skin, now relaxed, slid down to melt his high cheek bones, and curve in to accent his pillowy lips, giving his face a healthy look, opposed to his usual pinched demeanor.  
  
Only his long rat like nose poking out from the black curtain of his hair stayed relatively the same, though even it seemed to have softened, so that the feature looked more natural, instead of abnormal.  
  
Loosened even more from his usual plait the old man noticed that the roots of hair peeking through were a much darker shade of brown, 'almost black'.  
  
The thought trickled idly through his shock numbed brain, but only a centimeter or so. After all, what good spy would let his disguise fail simply because he'd forgotten to dye his hair. The mere thought was laughable. And Silk was nothing if not a good spy.  
  
Given the circumstances Belgarath was mystified as to how he'd even noticed such a small detail. 'When you're studying someone this closely there's little he could've hidden', he rationalized.  
  
As the dramatically younger looking man's shivers began to subside, and his breathing became more regular Belgrath was shaken from his dazed study of the man's face. The slump of his shoulders, and the thin sheen of sweat on his brow became apparent, and the reality of the situation hit him like Beldin on a bad day.  
  
"Silk?" he queried gently. Panic beginning to seep into his voice. "Silk!" again with a terser tone, then after a moments pause. "Kheldar, what the Hell is going on?"  
  
Silk inhaled a deep, albeit shaky, breath before turning towards the grand fatherly man and meeting his eyes hesitantly. Like a shy child. Thought there was nothing childlike about the haunted look in those eyes. They spoke of tiredness and pain in far greater quantities than should ever be experienced in one lifetime. They were nothing like the confident calculating gaze of the sly thief he was accustomed to.  
  
'Silk wold never look like that.' Belgarath realized suddenly, eyes widening slightly at the realization. 'so young and vulnerable... almost innocent. This cannot possibly be the same man.'  
  
"Who are you? What are you doing here? What've you done with my companion? Where have you come from?" Belgrath fired off rapidly, pointing a quivering finger at the hunched figure before him. It went along nicely with the icy glare burning from his ancient eyes. If there was one thing Belgarath had learned in his seven thousand long years, it was how to glare.  
  
The figure stood up a bit straighter, apparently unaffected by the old man's deadly gaze, and pulled a billowing sleeve across his face in what appeared to be an attempt to wipe away the perspiration that lay there, momentarily obscuring it from view.  
  
'shadows dance...'  
  
Belgarath thought he heard a mumble through the offending sleeve. 'Whatever that means' He thought chastely to himself, eyes continuing to search the stranger keenly for any signs of the old Kheldar.  
  
Suddenly the figure sighed, defeat evident in every line of his body. "You tell me." A rich baritone countered softly, trembling slightly with either exhaustion or effort. It was hard to tell.  
  
'No, defiantly not Silk.' Belgarath ascertained. 'Kheldars voice is almost as high as Garions!'  
  
The arm dropped slowly, to hang loosely at the young man's side, leaving his face completely un-shrounded for the first time since the beginning of their little episode only minutes before.  
  
Belgaraths breath hitched in his throat, and stumbled back heavily with a face to match his beard.  
  
"B-but it can't be... you're dead!!!"  
  
TBC....  
  
A/N: Wellllllll... whatda ya think? I love Silks character, but there are just a few things about him that never added up. Tell me you love it! !!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW !!! 


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